


Brothers in Arms

by CeruleanMusings



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brotherhood, Foolish!Peter, Gen, Protective Siblings, Requested fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-09-23 11:37:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20339491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeruleanMusings/pseuds/CeruleanMusings
Summary: Peter and Edmund learn the balance of brotherhood and monarchy when a band of rogue hunters in Narnia target their kingdom.





	1. Part One

Peter closed his eyes in a long, slow, blink. His chest swelled with his deep inhale, lips pressed together to keep from letting it out too early. Too soon. He counted to three in his head and let his breath out in blow. The fire within him continued to smolder.

“Edmund, I don’t think you understand—” Peter said.

“No, _you_, don’t understand,” Edmund interrupted. Peter threw his arms into the air and paced in a circle.

“Would you _please_ let me finish?”

“I know what you’re going to say!” Edmund’s grip tightened on the pommel of the sword that he held down by his side. Peter eyed it, wondering if maybe going out to spar today was a bad idea in hindsight. “And I’m telling you, it’s _not_ going to work. It’s not the best decision!”

“it’s the _only_ decision!” Peter shot back. “We have to strike back _now_ while we still have the time. While they’re still on the lands.”

“But what if that’s what they want?” Edmund said. Peter gritted his teeth, shook his head. Edmund _still_ wasn’t getting it. The longer they waited to act, the longer they waited to send a unit out to chase away the invaders, the more people would go missing. “What if we just keep feeding them people, one after another, for nothing? What if they’re waiting us out?”

“Then we’ll figure that out when we capture one of them,” Peter replied. “We can entice them to talk. Get down to the answer.”

Edmund shook his head, pushing a hand through his thick, dark hair. “This isn’t the right way, Pete.”

“So, what, you want to sit back and wait like a coward?”

Peter pressed his lips together, too late to keep the bullet of his words from hitting Edmund square in the chest. He watched as Edmund’s body stiffened, eyes darkened, and muscle in his jaw twitch in rapid succession. Sun beat down on then, golden rays illuminating an azure sky ahead but did nothing to quell the cold air that swooped in, whipping around them. Peter shivered; the cold from Edmund’s stare alone nestled deep down in his bones, sifting through every crevice.

“That…that wasn’t what I meant,” Peter said.

Edmund lifted his chin. “Regardless”—the bite in the single word left marks on Peter’s skin—”deciding to sit back and observe is not a coward’s move. It would give us more time to look into their methods. To see if there is a pattern—”

“At that point, there would be too many lives lost.” Peter stepped closer, his voice lowering to a harsh whisper. “Could you walk away from that? Walk away with their blood on your hands? Because that’s what’s going to happen if we take too much more time.”

“And if we don’t take _enough_ time, _brother_, then we will not be able to get a handle on the situation,” Edmund replied, stepping forward himself. Their chests bumped but neither backed down. His lip curled upwards into a snarl as he hissed, “You may be the high king, but you’re not Narnia’s _only_ king.”

“I know that!”

Edmund snorted, moving away from Peter. He walked away a few paces; the crisp grass crunched beneath his boots. “Do you?” His question barely reached Peter’s ears due to Edmund’s back being turned. Barely, but still managed.

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed. Sweat dripped down his forehead and dripped into his eye. The sting was sobering. “Of course.” He wasn’t alone when he was crowned. He wasn’t alone during his coronation ceremony all those years ago. He wasn’t alone when he sat up on that golden throne, basking in the elation and magic encompassing them after the defeat of the White Witch. Edmund sat next to him; his right hand man as always. Where he was supposed to be. Surely, he couldn’t have forgotten that.

Couldn’t have forgotten the many battles they fought together, charging in side-by-side with swords drawn and an eye on one another’s backs. When they snuck out of the castle for a break form their duties, racing their horses across the rolling greens as fast as their horses could carry them. When they aided one another in creating and establishing support for their loyal subjects that may be down on their luck or were suffering from losses. Any decision Peter made for the good of Narnia, Edmund would be there with him, giving advice and support. Why couldn’t he support him now?

“Sometimes, I don’t think you do,” Edmund said, turning. 

“Ed—”

Edmund stabbed the tip of his sword into the soft soil beneath their feet. The sword wiggled from side to side for a few tense seconds as Edmund looked outwards past Peter’s shoulder. Peter waited. Edmund didn’t waste time on frivolous words, Peter knew. it was worth waiting to hear what Edmund had to say, even if it was wrong.

“I know these lands as you do. I know these people as you do. I care for them just the same.” When Peter spoke to object, Edmund held up his hand. “But, I don’t think you have them in mind right now. I really don’t.”

“Okay then, Ed, what do I have in my mind?”

“Retribution.”

Peter gritted his teeth. “_They’re innocent!_” He gestured off in the distance as the fire within him flared back to life. “Those that are being hunted? They’re innocent! They’ve done nothing wrong! And I can’t just…just keep letting it happen! We cut them off, now!”

“Charging in and ambushing them without a plan isn’t going to make matters any better!” Edmund’s fingers drummed against the handle of his sword. “It’s not going to change the fact that we weren’t here.”

“But we’re here now!”

“I’m not going to let you sacrifice people’s lives to rid yourself of guilt, Pete, and I’m _sure_ Su and Lu wouldn’t either.”

“_I’m_ the High King!” 

The muscle in Edmund’s jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. “And that makes the rest of us, what, exactly?” Peter pushed a harsh breath out of his nose. Neither said a word. The hum of a bee’s wings nearby truncated the stretch of silence between them. A stalemate sat between them, so palpable it buzzed like a live-wire, waiting for the first casualty. 

“So, that’s that then.” 

Edmund volunteered himself.

“Ed—” Peter shook his head. He had to fix this. Had to…had to make him understand. If only Edmund could _understand. _Why didn’t he understand?

“I’m sorry I wasted my time bringing my thoughts to you,” he continued, his words clipped in a way that Peter hadn’t heard since they were children. Since their father left for the war. “I won’t make that mistake again, _Your Majesty_.”

Tufts of grass were wrenched from the ground due to the force behind Edmund’s yank on his sword. Peter watched him go, fingers twitching by his sides, strains of frustration rooting him to the ground. Fine, he could go! Maybe then he’d stop being so bloody blind and see that being proactive was the way to go for their people’s safety. 

“Is everything alright?” Peter’s head whipped upwards at Caspian’s voice. He stood a ways away, his hands resting on the belt to his sword strap without a care in the world. Peter scowled.

“S’fine,” Edmund muttered, heading in his direction.

“What happened?”

Edmund paused, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Peter before saying, “Nothing out of the ordinary” and kept going.

Uttering a frustrated growl, Peter turned on his heel and stalked off in the other direction.

Shafts of sunlight illuminated the path ahead of Peter as he continued his angry stalking through the woods. Above birds tweeted and flittered from perch to perch, basking in the warmth. Waist-high flora tugged at his doublet as he passed, snagging briefly only for him to batter it aside as his frustration seethed.

Of course Edmund would only see Peter’s declaration as a bad thing. He didn’t mean to hold his title over his brother’s head, he would never do such a thing! They pushed forward their reign together–him, Edmund, Lucy, and Susan. They were the Kings and Queens of old. They brought forth the Golden Age and brought peace to Narnia for a time. The Narnians looked to them for guidance and support and, in the end, were loyal to their monarchs. 

They were unified.

He’d only meant…well, now he wasn’t so sure. Peter’s nose wrinkled. His point, once so burning hot, now sat beneath murky water, difficult to distinguish. Just far enough out of reach for him to grasp. With every step he took into the forest, he moved further and further away from the claws of resentment reaching to pull him back.

“Bollocks,” he uttered beneath his breath. He kicked at a nearby rock, watching it bounce and skip across the loamy dirt path. Perhaps he _did_ mean to bring up his title but…it wasn’t to bring Edmund down. It was only to remind that he had final say, that maybe it would push Edmund to see that they had to make _some_ sort of a decision rather than spinning in circles. _It probably doesn’t help that you’re pulling him in those circles._

Habits die hard. He was the oldest, he was to protect them, no matter what. No matter how many battles they fought, no matter how many lands they traveled to, he was to ensure that they were taken care of. It was his duty. It was his job. Okay, yes, maybe his brain was overridden with his need to protect the Narnians and his family by proxy, but that didn’t mean he was wrong. There was a time that they weren’t there for their country, he didn’t want them to see him as leaving them in lurch again.

_Edmund doesn’t either._ Peter stopped walking, letting the words of his colliding thought sink in. Of course they were working towards a common goal, in the end they wanted the kidnappings to stop. But the stakes were higher than they’ve ever been when it came to making a decision for the good of their people. It wasn’t that Edmund didn’t have a point…Peter just didn’t want to do the wrong thing. In the end, it would all fall on him. Press on his shoulders and sit on his chest and keep him up at night as he wondered what he could have done differently, what he could have done better, and if anyone would ever trust him again.

He sighed. Maybe it would be best to talk to Susan first.

He’d barely turned on his heel when the brush exploded. Shouts and jeers whipped around him like a hurricane, taking over, screaming in his ears. His hand barely gripped the base of his sword, trusty Rhindon, when something thunked against the back of his skull and night pulled down over his eyes.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding himself in over his head, Peter attempts to protect his kingdom no matter the cost.

Peter thrashed against the sea of hands that fought to hold him down. Rocks and twigs scraped at his back. The jeers and shouts continued to assault him, hitting at him from all sides. Something banged against his head — a fist for a foot, he wasn’t sure. Stars exploded in his vision and his head swam but still he fought. He had to keep fighting.

Wrenching his arm out of the heavy grasp pulling him back, he scrambled around for his sword. His arm flopped down towards his side, searching. A heavy weight began to press down on his legs. He kicked and struck out at any and everything that dare got close to him. His fingers brushed against something cool. Sparks shot at his fingertips and a smile tweaked at the corner of his mouth.

His fingers barely wrapped around the handle of his sword when his fingers were pried backwards. His grunts and groans of pain were swallowed up by the material of the sack over his head — burlap, how original. His hot, shallow breaths smacked him in the face. Beads of sweat rolled down his cheek. He just needed some air. Just a little bit of air…

“Hurry. Grab him! Get him on the cart before his legion arrive,” a raspy voice growled in his ear.

Peter gritted his teeth. If he was going anywhere, it was going to be after a good fight.

Curling his fingers around his sword handle once more, Peter gathered his strength and swung his arm. A painful grunt and a brief tug let him know that Rhindon caught on something. Or someone. Just what he needed.

He reached up, tugging the sack off his head. His eyes blinked rapidly with the onslaught of sunlight, trying to adjust to the brightness. Rolling onto his stomach, he jumped onto his feet. The back of his head throbbed, adrenaline pumped through him but he tightened his grip on his sword and swung it in a mighty arc.

Now he saw them; the rogues with battered faces, scarred skin, wide teeth baring smiles. Save for one. His gloved hand pressed against his cheek and, when he removed it, Peter saw the slice across his cheek, the blood seeping out and sliding down the cure of his jaw.

Peter’s nostrils flared. One quick sweep allowed him to take in their number—nine of them—their size—shorter but packed with muscle—and their armor—none. 

Gulping, he clenched his jaw. There weren’t many that were so brazen to go through Narnian lands without some sort of armor to protect themselves. Those that didn’t, he knew, didn’t have much to worry about losing.

_Right then._ Steeling his nerves, he eyed them.

“You are not welcome in our lands! Leave at once!” He ordered, taking on his High King voice—a deeper, authoritative tone used seldomly. Not even when he spoke to his own kingdom did he resort to such measures.

The scratched rogue laughed, a raspy wheezy laugh. “No, I don’t think so,” he replied. “’Cause, y’see, you can’t tell me what to do.”

“You’re not welcome here!”

The gang of rogues burst into laughter. Peter’s nostrils flared and, all at once, he was taken back to the early days of their Golden Age reign. When foes and visitors alike snickered behind their palms or second guessed his decisions and choices simply because of his age. He grew into the ruling position, not without push-back, but he’d paid his dues hadn’t he?

The lion deep within him roared and pawed at the ground, poised and ready to strike. Lifting his chin, Peter held the gaze of the scratched rogue. The scratched rogue’s laughter stopped and those around him petered out.

“_Leave_,” Peter snarled.

“I don’t think so,” the scratched rogue replied. He dragged his thumb across the scrape on his cheek, scraping the blood away. He barely glanced at it as he flicked the blood away; it dotted leaves of the underbrush by his feet. “Y’see, you all have it good around here. I figured it was my duty to, ah, lighten the load. Figure you wouldn’t miss some gems and trinkets here and there.”

“You’re killing innocent people!”

The scratched rogue shrugged. “They shouldn’t have resisted.”

The loud roar of a lion rushed in his ears and lit a fire within Peter. He briefly took a step backwards. Everyone seemed to move at once. Shouts and battle cries surrounded him as he turned and ran. Wind tugged at his clothes as he burst through the paths ahead of him. The rogues stayed close on his heels. They were fast, but he had the advantage of knowing the lands.

He ducked aside, charging off the path, ducking and dodging between large rocks that reached upwards to the canopy of leaves above. Something whizzed past his head, a hum buzzing in his ear before the bark on a tree nearest him exploded. He ducked, bits of bark reigning down on his head and shoulders.

He squeezed between a rock, glancing back only to jerk away when the tip of a sword came inches from his nose. He gulped and kept going, eyes darting around for an exit or even a half decent hiding place. _There!_

As if granting his wishes, he spotted it: a toppled over tree. The base, so large, lifting out of the ground it resembled a bare treetop of its own. Roots pointed in every which way, clumps of dirt hanging on. Peter headed for it, rushing through the tall grass. He scrambled over it and jumped down behind the shield of roots.

His chest heaved and he silently cursed himself for walking off without cover. But it was Narnia, he knew his lands, he knew he was safe. Or at least, he _was._ Maybe he rested too far on his laurels, believing all the good they were doing for their country and how they protected it. Either way, he needed to get a message back to his family. And fast.

Peter glanced around, searching the trees until he spotted one that appeared to be bathing in a golden glow, all the spotlights of sunlight directed on it. He let out a long breath, briefly closed his eyes while saying a prayer to Aslan, and jumped out of his hiding place.

“There he is! Men, charge!”

Peter raced for the tree, dodging the weapons being thrown around him. He jumped over upturned roots and zig-zagged around trees until he finally reached it. In a swirl of leaves, a figure wrapped up in pearl pink petals appeared before him, floating along.

“My king,” the dryad spirit said, approaching.

“Take news back to the castle. I need the others. And….and please hurry,” Peter said.

“Of course, My King,” the spirit said before disappearing to whence it came.

Standing up straight, Peter turned and faced the rogues that rushed in at him, twirling rope-like weapons over their heads and readying their swords. He brushed the sleeve of his shirt across his mouth and pressed his lips into a line.

He raised his sword, catching a glimpse of his own face reflecting in the blade for a mere second. He closed his eyes, thinking to his sisters, Susan and Lucy, who were left behind at the castle, steadied his nerves, opened his eyes, and charged forward.

Caspian rushed across the castle grounds, his booted footfalls muffled by the lush greens underneath. Wind tugged at his clothes, dragging him, but still he ran. He hadn’t stopped running since he heard the noise. Heard the ambush.

He gritted his teeth. If only he’d followed after Peter sooner, if only he hadn’t taken so much time to sort things out with Edmund before going after the High King, this wouldn’t have happened. If not for the dryad spirit coming to him with a message from Peter himself, he wouldn’t have been there in time. And it was tough, choosing to turn and run for help rather than go into the fight on his own to help. But then, if the dryad spirit hadn’t awoken, who would have known they were there in the first place? Last they heard the rogues were only by the borders, waiting. No one would know to look in the words.

Emboldened by his decision, Caspian continued his sprint. His chest heaved, his lungs burned, but onward he pushed until he reached the base of the castle. A few watchmen shouted at him, at his hurried arrival, but he blew past them, going straight for the one place he knew Edmund would be residing when he needed to clear his head.

And sure enough, Caspian witnessed with brief relief, Edmund sat perched near the edge of the tallest cliff on the grounds, overlooking the vast expanse of the ocean down below. Such a sight usually stopped him in his tracks but he didn’t have time. _Peter_ didn’t have time.

“Come to bring a message from Pete?” Edmund asked. Caspian didn’t miss the curl of disdain appearing on his upper lip as he spoke. “Typical, can’t even face me himself.”

“Ed! Hush! Your brother’s in danger,” Caspian said curtly, causing Edmund’s head to whip around.

For a brief second surprise filtered into his dark eyes before they hardened and his jaw clenched. Standing, his shoulders squared and Caspian could almost see the little gears turning in his head, formulating a plan in an instant.

“How many?”

“Nine as I last saw. Could be more. We’d be beneficial with the archers.”

“I agree,” Edmund replied. “I’ll round up a few of them. Get some of the first division. We need the numbers and the speed now more than strength. Anyone that can help.”

Caspian nodded. “And Susan and Lucy?”

“I’ll alert them myself, you be sure that everyone is ready to leave at once.” Caspian spied a lump sliding down Edmund’s throat when he swallowed. “We may not have a lot of time but…any extra will be enough.”

“Perhaps I should have stayed—”

“We can have this conversation later. Go. Now.”

Edmund was right, of course, but as Caspian went through the motions of gathering up a small unit of Aslan’s Army he couldn’t shrug off his guilt. What would happen if they were too late? At a moment’s notice Caspian had the choice to put his life on the line for his friend and his country and he chose to ran. Would others see it that way as well? Lucy? Susan?

The whistling of wind in his ears as his horse carried him back into the woods drowned out his mind’s doubt. He kept his grip on the reins and kept perfect posture over every jump that they encountered on their way. Edmund rode ahead of him, back straight, form strong. Except for his shoulders. Even beneath his little bit of armor Caspian found them rounded, weary. Caspian pressed his lips together. They would get to Peter in time, he was sure of it.

It wasn’t long before boisterous revelry wafted around them, carrying on the breeze like a bird’s song on the dawn of a new day. It hit Caspian like a cold wave, slamming him around until he took a breath, regained control, and followed Edmund’s signal to charge ahead.

The rogues dropped their bottles of mead, staggering to their feet as Aslan’s Army charged through. Caspian leaned sideways on his horse, catching a running ogue with the end of his sword when he swung. Reaching a clearing, Caspian jumped down from his horse and immediately ran into the foray. 

His sword bit and clashed against the staves and daggers wielded against him. He dodged and parried. He ducked and swung, using the fire in his belly as a driving force to keep pushing, keep fighting. A few blows landed on his armor, creating a _clang_ so loud it rattled in his skull but he pushed through. 

Out the corner of his eye he spotted Edmund fighting a rogue about the size of a troll and the width of a barrell. A large scratch sliced through his right cheek, staring by his mouth and ending right below his eye. Edmund aimed a kick at its chest only for the rogue to grab his leg and give it a mighty twist. Caspian winced at the crack, followed by Edmund’s scream of anguish.

Arrows flew through the air, piercing the rogue’s arms and chest but it only made him grin. He didn’t slow. Caspian tightened his grip on his sword and charged forward, bringing it down with all his might. The rogue screamed as Caspian’s sword sliced through his arm, coming to a shuttering stop when it hit bone. Blood sprayed outwards, dripping down the length of Caspian’s sword. The rogue dropped Edmund and he fell to the ground with a thud where he immediately curled downwards to grasp his leg and drag himself away.

“For Narnia!” the army cried out as they ran forward, charging like a tidal wave. Caspian took the time to rush to Edmund’s side, managing to avoid the scratched rogue’s swinging arm.

“Don’t worry about me,” Edmund grunted.

“Come. I’ll get you out of here.”

“No. Get Pete!”

Caspian’s heart skipped a beat. “Where—?”

“There…over there,” Edmund managed to utter through his scrunched up face.

Caspian whirled around and saw him, Peter, propped up by a nearby tree. His head lolled forward. He sat still. So still. Caspian swallowed and ran over to him. He lifted Peter’s head, growling beneath his breath as he took in Peter’s banged up face, dried blood caked beneath one nose, and gag wrapped around his mouth. Caspian reached to untie the gag when he looked down and saw that Peter was tied to the tree and around his ankles as well. But it was the darkened patch on his side that made him briefly take pause.

He drew a knife from its holster on his waist and sawed at the ropes until Peter was let free. He slumped sideways and Caspian eased him to the ground. _Please. Please._ Placing two fingers beneath Peter’s neck, he waited and waited and waited…until finally he felt a pulse. It was weak, but at least it was there.

“Ed, I got him!” Caspian called over his shoulder. Edmund rolled over and struggled to his feet. He nearly fell over again but he managed to stay upwards, dragging his bad leg behind him as he hopped over to Peter. “I got him,” Caspian repeated.

“Pete? Hey, Pete.” Once by his older brother’s side, Edmund started patting Peter’s cheek. A small groan escaped from Peter’s mouth, but his eyes remained closed. “Go. I’ll stay with him.” Edmund lifted his chin over his shoulder where the rogues, now down to five, struggled against the circling Narnian army. The scratched rogue was nowhere to be seen. “Finish this.”

Caspian threw one last glance Peter’s way, pressing his lips together when Edmund leaned forward and rested his forehead against his brother’s. “I’m here, Pete. It’ll be okay,” he murmured.

Relief brought ease to Caspian’s breathing. He brushed sweat away from his brow, gripped his sword, and left the two brothers with an approaching Narnian medic.


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of an ambush, Peter and Edmund come to terms with their positions as monarchs and brothers.

At the exact moment the bitter and surprisingly salty concoction hit his tongue, Peter made a face while spluttering and shoving the goblet away from his mouth.

“I never said it would taste good,” Susan pointed out, setting the goblet aside. “It’s guaranteed to help heal you from the inside out, they say. I don’t suppose anything like _that_ would drip of honey.”

“I could only wish.” Peter’s voice, a gravelly rasp, bounced around the spacious chambers of his room of which he’d been kept ever since his rescue. Chambermaids and medics came round the clock to check on his health and ensure that he was bestowed with the utmost comfort.

He absolutely hated it. The fawning, the weeping, the attention. He didn’t deserve it, any of it. Okay, perhaps he didn’t mind the relief and worry but past that, he wanted nothing to do with the care and attention they put towards him.

Shame hung heavy on his shoulders no matter how many times they tried to prop him up.

“Yes, well, we could also wish that you weren’t so foolish as to need this,” Susan said.

Peter pushed a breath out of his nose. “Su, can you go be right somewhere else?”

Susan’s lips curled in the corners as she clasped her hands together. The foot of the bed shifted beneath her weight and her dark hair cascaded over her shoulder as she sighed. “I’m glad you’re okay, Peter. Of course. When Lu and I couldn’t get a straight answer when they told us to stay put...” Her lower lip trembled for a moment, bouncing her shaky breath until she stilled herself with a blink of her eyes. “I didn’t know what to think. But I did know that, no matter the circumstance, no matter what happened, you would do anything for Narnia. And that gave me hope. In the end, you protected us all and staved an attack. The country is indebted to you.”

Peter grunted, his nose wrinkling. That isn’t what he wanted. That’s not what happened. Susan could look at it as Peter protective Narnia but...he was _wrong_. So wrong. He knew that now. Every hitch to his breath as pain exploded in his side was a reminder of that.

“I put them at risk, Su,” Peter said.

“Of course you didn’t. You did what you thought was best.”

“Yeah. What _I_ thought was best. I was so sure...” He licked his dry lips, shaking his head. “I’ve done this before. Lead Narnia. All those years ago.” Susan’s head lowered in the silence that followed his statement. The growing pains of leaving Narnia once before was a trying time for them both. “It meant something. Or, at least I thought it did.”

“It does.”

Peter shook his head, a sad smile appearing on his face. “Not now. Not when everything’s changed.”

Susan’s eyebrows furrowed but before she could press a knock on the door had her head whipping around. The sight of Edmund’s battle-worn frame leaning in the doorway made Peter’s breath stop. They eyed one another as Susan stood and said something about giving them space. Peter caught the sound of the skirts of her dress grazing the stone floor over the sound of the silence between the brothers.

He swallowed. The healing wound in his side burned, almost fresh as the day he received it. He didn’t remember much about the attack, only waking up in the castle surrounded by the tear-streaked faces of Lucy and Susan. And before.

He definitely remembered before.

Shame tightened around him. Pressing his weight against his bed, he grunted as he shifted to sit up against the pillows.

“Do you need—”

“I can handle—”

The brothers spoke in unison and cut their words off in unison. Peter froze half in his motion, surprise seeping into his eyes at Edmund rushing forward to help. He’d halted himself by the side of the bed, his arms dropping to his sides.

“Right.” Edmund nodded and took a step back. “You have it sorted, then?”

Peter’s brain lapsed, or so that was the explanation he came up with for a scoff flying out of his mouth quickly followed by, “How long have you been waiting to say that?”

It was daft, really. He could claim he wasn’t thinking straight, that the hit to his head was harder than he thought. But the look on Edmund’s face told him no explanation would be of satisfaction.

Edmund’s jaw had set, a muscle twitching by his neck as his eyes hardened. The silence pulsed between them, waiting for a spark to ignite a fire. To blow up around them. And so Peter waited, internally wincing, for whatever Edmund was to say next was going to be important. His words were seldom spoken without some gravity.

“I don’t sit around waiting to pick apart your choices,” he finally said.

“Yeah? You sure about that?”

“Yes, in fact.” Edmund’s biting words sunk into Peter’s skin, burning and clawing. “I am not your enemy, Peter. I am not your sidekick and I am not taking notes if something goes wrong! I am your _brother_ and I just want you to be a _little bit_ smarter about things sometimes.”

“We didn’t have much time! I had to make a choice!”

“You’re not the only monarch, Peter!”

“No, but I am your brother!” Peter pressed his lips together and pushed a breath out of his nose. “I’m supposed to protect you. The lot of you. That’s my job, whether we’re in Narnia or not. I’m not...” He licked his lower lip, easing a breath through the pain throbbing in his side. “I’m not...going to let anything happen to you if I can help it.”

“And how do you propose you’ll do that if you end up dead?”

Peter shrugged. “Maybe I deserve it.”

Edmund let out a loud sigh and approached the bed, choosing to sit in the chair nearby rather than on the edge like Susan. He laced his fingers together and rested them on his knees, leaning forward. “I was scared, okay? When Caspian came back with the news that you were hurt. I was worried that something...worse had happened.” He rubbed the back of his neck and leaned backwards, crossing his arms. “I’m not only thinking of the Narnians when I try to find alternate ways to protect them, you know. Just because you’re the oldest, doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t want you to be safe either.”

“_I’m_ supposed to protect you.”

“_We’re_ supposed to protect each other! We wouldn’t have lasted this long if we did this on our own and you know that. The rogues caught us both off guard; it’s not your responsibility to shoulder alone.”

Was it not? Peter was the oldest male figure in their home after their father went off to war. He was to watch over them and protect them when they were sent away for their safety. He was to ensure they were happy and healthy. It was his job. Without it...what was he to do? Who was he to be?

“How’s your leg?” Peter asked after clearing his throat.

Edmund looked down, as if forgetting that he was injured himself. Peter suspected he had. “They say it isn’t broken, surprisingly, but it’s been roughed up pretty good.” He shrugged. “I’ll heal.” His eyes roamed from Peter’s face and down to his bandaged side. “And yourself?”

“I’ll heal,” Peter echoed. Then, “I’m sorry.”

He was to be a brother.

Edmund’s eyebrow lifted as he pressed his lips together. The two words hung in the air between them, waiting, stuck whether to move forward and backward. Peter sat still beneath Edmund’s gaze, allowing him to search his face for...whatever it was that Edmund looked for when he stared someone down. Then, his lips parted, and he said, “I’m sorry too” and the vice around Peter’s chest eased.

Knuckles rapped against the wooden door and the two looked over to see Caspian, his face a mix of relief and guilt.

“Cas—” Peter said.

“I’m glad to know you’re healing,” he said as he approached, speaking over Peter. “I can only apologize for not getting to you sooner, Peter.”

“Caspian, no. Don’t put this on yourself. You’ve done nothing wrong.” He took in a deep breath, wincing slightly at the burning pain in his side, and eased it back out. “I should be the one apologizing."

“I should have followed you.”

“I shouldn’t have gone off on my own.”

“I should—”

“Okay.” Edmund held up his hands, cutting off their words. His rolling eyes let them in on his disdain. “Stop this. You two could try to out guilt each other all day.”

Peter chuckled, holding his side. As his the edges of him smile faded away he said, “Seriously, though, Caspian I owe you my life.”

“You owe me nothing,” Caspian insisted. “You are my friend, Peter. And like a brother to me.” He placed his hand to his chest as he spoke. “I care about you. About you all, and I will always come to your aid.”

Peter flashed a smile at Caspian, at his his two brothers. Maybe Edmund was right, maybe he could relinquish control and his need to face threats alone. Because he truly wasn’t alone, not when he had his family by his side.

Another knock on the door put a rare but bright smile on Edmun’s face. “Speaking of aid...” He motioned a man in the doorway inside; he shuffled forward as his hands clasped a tray piled high with food that smelled so savory Peter’s stomach growl was so audible he, for a moment, wondered if a dog had wandered into the room. “I saw what Susan had brought up. I figured you could use something that was actually edible.” Taking a canister of sweets from the man, Edmund popped one into his mouth before adding, “Just...don’t tell her.”

Peter shook his head. Of course he wouldn’t. It was their little secret.

It was then that Peter looked at him. _Really_ looked at him. At the tall, filled-out man standing in his little brother’s place. At the man who shed the scrawny, quiet, brooding boy from long ago and grew into a diplomatic, just, and fair reigning monarch.

And he couldn’t be more proud.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr at [ceruleanmusings](https://ceruleanmusings.tumblr.com)!


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